A Serious Responsibility
by cactusnell
Summary: Violet Holmes always told her sons that they were responsible for their own happiness. What happens when she tells Molly the same thing? Sherlolly


The two women sat, comfortably exhausted, in the back seat of the black car, surrounded by shopping bags and boxes. "I'm so glad I have you, Molly. Siger gave up on the London shopping trips a long time ago. And sons just don't seem to understand the therapeutic benefits of spending money frivolously." Violet Holmes smiled as she sighed softly. "My sons, in particular, don't seem to see the therapeutic benefits of doing anything frivolously! They never seem to have any fun!"

"I'm sure they have fun, Violet. Just not in any way normal humans would consider fun. Sherlock loves to play his violin. And Mycroft, ah, Mycroft, well he likes to…"

"Annoy his younger brother, yes, Molly, I am quite aware. But, surely, you must concede that is not a one sided problem."

"Were they always like that?"

"Oh, god, yes! It started when Sherlock was almost three. Mycroft told him some story about there being a middle child, whom I supposedly baked in the oven for refusing to brush his teeth. I suppose it sounded plausible because of the seven year gap between them. After that, every time I started to make a batch of biscuits, the boy would hide in his treehouse." The woman let loose a stream of not particularly maternal sounding giggles. "I must say, he does have nice teeth, though!" Molly couldn't help but laugh at the image of a terrified child vigorously brushing his teeth so as to not be shoved into his mum's hot oven, and wasn't terribly proud of herself for doing so. "You'll learn to deal with such things when you have children, Molly. Just hang on to your sense of humor. And your sense of the absurd!"

Molly's laughter came to a stuttering halt. "At the rate I'm going, Violet, that is seeming less and less likely, Violet."

"It wouldn't be so if you would take my advice seriously, Molly Hooper! You can be as stubborn as either of my idiot sons when you put your mind…" Mrs. Holmes looked over at the sad look on her companion's face. "Alright, I'll drop the subject. At least for now. But always remember, Molly. Siger and I care about you. You have been a great friend to our family. My boys think the world of you. But you must take responsibility for your own happiness. If things aren't working out the way you want them to, change things! Be proactive…"

"Violet..."

"Yes, yes, sorry. I was getting carried away again. Just know that I only want what's best for you, alright?"

"I know, Vi. But sometimes, what's best for you isn't what's best for somebody else, okay?" Her voice trailed off as they approached the rather impressive home of Mycroft Holmes. The car pulled elegantly to the curb, and the driver got out to assist the women with their packages. The woman made their way inside. Expecting, perhaps, some tea to be served. But tea seemed less likely when they found the three men comfortably ensconced in Mycroft's sitting room, sipping on Scotch. Siger Holmes immediately rose from his seat to give his wife an affectionate peck on the cheek, while his two sons merely grunted a greeting. "Vi, my love, I hope that you have not spent the entire family fortune this afternoon?"

"Not to worry, Si. I couldn't find a diamond large enough to use as a doorstop. And the sable bedspread didn't come in a queen size. I had to settle for mink." Siger Holmes shook his head and smiled affectionately at his wife. "I'm sure mink will be fine, my dear, but, really, you're all I need to keep me warm." Violet swatted his arm, but returned the smile. Both of their sons looked uncomfortable at this small display of affection.

"Really, boys, you should be used to this by this time," Siger said as he pulled his wife closer. "You've seen much worse in your younger years!"

"Yes," Mycroft commented loftily, "Perhaps that's why we are so scarred." Mycroft saw the slightly pained look on his mother's face, and immediately regretted his words. He held no one responsible for his own inability to express his feelings, but he knew that, to a large extent, he was responsible for his brother's failings in the same regard. So, he changed the subject. "Shall we all have dinner, then? It's so seldom we are all together. Perhaps we should take advantage? Shall I make reservations?"

Sherlock saw immediately that Molly had become uncomfortable. Although she and Mycroft had become true friends during the detective's two year "death", and she had grown close to his parents, he still sensed that she felt she did not deserve being included in a family gathering. So he cleared his throat, and announced, "Molly and I have plans."

"Plans? What plans, William?" Violet Holmes asked, rather hopefully.

"Same plans we have every Saturday. Takeaway dinner and a film. Or telly. Whatever Molly chooses. She's trying to educate me about pop culture. I have done the graduate course in 'Harry Potter', and am currently working my way through 'Star Wars'."

"He flunked 'Dr. Who!' Kept arguing with the physics." Molly added.

"Who notices physics when David Tennant is around! Or Matt Smith! And why was Peter Capaldi allowed to his his own accent when Tennant wasn't? Such a delightful Scottish burr, don't you think?" Violet said, with a smile on her face.

"Mummy, you are entirely too well informed when it comes to the Doctor…" Mycroft drawled.

"She made me wear a fez and a bow tie!" Siger put in.

"Scarring, papa. Remember the scarring!" Mycroft interrupted him with a smirk.

Sherlock continued with his comments. "And the age difference! Really, he must have been 900 years older than that Rose woman! What could they possibly have in common? Romance? He could have babysat her great great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great great-great great …."

"Yes, Sherlock, they get it!" Molly interrupted his rant. "You don't believe in romance."

"And the whole vampire thing! Neck biting can be amusing, but not when you draw blood! And 'Twilight'. A seventeen year old girl and a vampire well over one hundred. Illegal, unnatural, and ridiculous, no matter how pretty they are. Or sparkly! And he may be prettier than she is! And that's not to mention the wolf on the side?"

"Enough!" Molly and Violet shouted, practically in one voice, as Siger Holmes collapsed into gales of laughter. Mycroft merely looked uncomfortable.

Sherlock regained his composure as he got to his feet. "Obviously, I am overdosing on pop culture. I wonder what tonight's lesson will be? Are you ready, Molly. We'll pick up some food on the way. I'm sure Mycroft will provide transport. Won't you, brother dear?"

"I'll provide transport for Dr. Hooper. If you insist on hitching a ride…"

"Thank you, as always, brother!"

The two women were sorting out the shopping bags and parcels, and Violet was shoving Molly's bags into her younger son's arms. "I'm so glad I raised you to be a gentleman, William." The detective grimaced as he was loaded down with bags. Mycroft's nasty chuckle was cut short by his mother's command, "Myk, grab that large box, will you, and carry it to the car. That will have to go in the boot. Molly couldn't help but grin at the thought of the British government carrying her new coffee maker to the waiting vehicle.

Sherlock and Molly made their goodbyes as they walked to the waiting car, Molly waving to the elderly Holmes couple. When they had settled in the back of the vehicle, Sherlock couldn't help but ask about the coffee maker, starting with, "I hope it was heavy, Molly. But why did you need a coffee maker?"

"Oh, you git, you're always complaining about the quality of the coffee at Bart's. It's terrible, and you know it! So, I bought one of those high end coffee makers, the ones that use the little cups. Just imagine, I can put it in the lab and everybody can have their favorite kind of coffee. Or even tea! Chocolate coffee, almond coffee, hawaiian coffee, you name it. Caffeinated, or de-caffeinated, your choice. It will be heaven!"

"Do you intend to provide the entire hospital with good coffee, Molly? That could cost…"

"No! Everybody could bring their own k-cups. I'd just let them use the machine…"

"And provide the creamer and sugar, no doubt. And the clean-up, and the maintenance. Once again, you're being too nice."

"What would you know about being nice, Sherlock?"

"Touche, Dr. Hooper." He sat back in his seat, racking his brain for something nice to do for the kindly woman sitting next to him. "Well, since you didn't purchase one for your own home, I will do do. Then I won't have to go to Bart's for a decent cup. I'm there often enough to make it worth the expenditure, after all."

"Thank you, Sherlock," Molly said with a shy smile, thinking that anything that would mean his presence in her flat even more often would be welcome. "That would be very, er, nice."

"Good. We can shop on Amazon, and have it delivered along with a selection of coffee. And experiment with the choices. I have heard of a type of coffee, kopi luwak, from southeast Asia. It's made from beans found in the droppings of the civet cat. The cats choose only the best coffee fruits, and the indigestible bean then ferments a bit in the cat's gut before being excreted. It's very expensive, but I'd be willing to spend a bit to experiment with the taste…"

"I'm not drinking cat shite coffee, mate. And don't even think of involving Toby in any kind of experimentation, either!"

The detective grunted a bit, knowing his experiment had been shut down before it even started. But he had gotten over it before they pulled up in front of Molly's flat. Ever the gentleman, he climbed out first, then reached in to offer his hand to his companion. He then reached in once again, gathered all the bundles, and shoved them into her arms. "My turn to carry your biggest purchase, Molly. Do remember to hold the door for me." He took the large box, with an exaggerated look of complaint, and followed her upstairs to her front door.

When they had dumped all of the packages, Sherlock shed his coat and headed toward the large box with curiosity. "It comes with samp;es. Shall we try it out?"

"You want coffee? You always want tea in the evening."

"I'd be happy with either, but I'd prefer coffee tonight. I'm curious about how the thing works."

"I'd be happy with either, too. But, if you prefer, we could have coffee."

"Only if you're happy with that, Molly…"

"I'm happy, I'm happy, alright! I am responsible for my own happiness, so you needn't be concerned! I'm just…"

"That sounds like my mother talking, Molly. What has she been on to you about? She usually gave me that lecture when she was trying to convince me to do something that she thought would make me happy. So, what is she trying to get you to do? Adopt another cat - she has a litter living in the garden shed, I know."

"No kittens, Sherlock?"

"Go on a trip to Antarctica. I know Papa said he'd accompany her 'when hell froze over', but then said the point was probably moot, as he would eventually see hell, no doubt. Perhaps she wants you to get matching tattoos? You and she have grown rather close, after all."

"No, no, no! No cat, no trip, no tattoo. Drop the subject, okay?"

But from the way he was looking at her, Molly knew the subject was far from being dropped. "Molly, don't let her get to you. My mother has a gift for getting her way. I should know, as I have inherited it. But I hate to see her take advantage of you…"

"Because that's your prerogative, right? Look, Sherlock, there's no problem. I love your mother. I enjoy spending time with her."

"And I enjoy your spending time with her, Molly. Saves me the drudgery of West End theater and boring dinners. Not to mention those endless weekends in the country! Maybe you should just do what she wants, and end the nagging?"

"I don't think so, Sherlock."

"Come on, how bad can it be? I usually just give in."

"Really?"

"Really. Why do you think I don't cut these insipid curls?"

"Because you know they make you look even hotter?"

"No! Wait, really. You think I'm hot?"

"Everybody thinks you're hot, Sherlock. Including you!"

"No! It's because she made me promise not to. She even cried about it! And she reminds me constantly, pulling at them, and calling me her 'baby'!" This was a side to the detective that MOlly had never seen, and it only endeared him to her all the more. This must have shown in her expression. "Don't get me wrong. It works out in my favor as well. Whenever I need something from her, I just threaten to sue my razor. That's how I got repeated reprieves on those theater evenings until you came along!"

"That figures!"

"So, are you going to tell me what she's trying to pressure you into?"

"It's silly, Really. And a bit embarrassing, too."

"Molly, nothing is embarrassing unless you let it be. So, what is it? What is her 'happiness' campaign about this time? It can't be that bad. We're friends. You can tell me. She's my mother. I know how pushy she can be!"

Molly hesitated. She could imagine that the look on her face was somewhat similar to Sherlock's 'buffering mode", when he drifted off into his mind palace, detached from the world around him. Finally, she spoke. "She wants me to propose to you."

"Buffering mode" seems to become contagious, as Sherlock's face now mimicked Molly's. When he finally cleared his throat and spoke, it was a falsely calm demeanor. "Ah! It makes sense. She wants grandchildren desperately, after all. And we are compatible. Complementary. And she does care about both of us. We get along well, our careers interconnect, and our interests. But what I cannot fathom is how she believes I could make any woman, let alone you, happy. I'm not a nice man, Molly. I'm arrogant, selfish, and egotistical. I'm a walking disaster as a bachelor, and would only be worse as a husband, for god's sake! Not to mention, a father. Can you imagine a man like me raising kids like mine? It could be the end of civilization as we know it."

"Not civilization in its entirety, Sherlock. Perhaps only the Greater London area."

"Please, Molly, may I remind you once again about your lack of talent for making jokes?" He flopped down on Molly's couch.

"You told me to do what she asked, to give in and get it over with. Maybe I should. Then I can report back to her, and she'll stop her nagging." Taking a deep breath. She sat down next to him, gave him a look halfway between serious and joking, and said quietly, but certainly loud enough for him to hear, "Sherlock, will you marry me?"

The detective couldn't seem to take his eyes from hers. "She wants a real marriage, Molly. Grandchildren. That means sex. Are you prepared for that?"

"I'm hardly a blushing virgin, Sherlock. And why are we even discussing that?" Molly suddenly became embarrassed. She had no idea, really, about his sexual history, or inclinations. She knew what she had always fantasized about him as a certain way, but had no basis in fact for those fantasies. Was he gay? Asexual? A virgin, as some believed? "You're not, are you?"

"What? A virgin? Hardly! Nor am I gay. Or asexual. To answer your next two questions before you ask."

"Again, why are we even discussing this. Just say 'no', so I can report back to your mother, and end this. Then she can start nagging Mycroft, or Anthea, better still. I'm not sure Mycroft would have the courage to turn down a trained agent!" Molly would have continued in this vein if Sherlock hadn't suddenly moved closer, wrapped his arms around her and proceeded to snog her senseless. She would have said something, but her lips were otherwise occupied. And by the time they were free, she found herself incapable of thought. The detective pushed her down onto the couch, and demonstrated just how amusing neck biting could be. Among other things, chief of which was that he was definitely a heterosexual non-virgin.

Hours before dawn, Molly Hooper awakened, quite naked, in the arms of the equally naked Sherlock Holmes. She was quite sure of what had happened, just not completely clear on how it had happened. When she tried to disentangle herself, she found herself looking into the open eyes of her companion. Her lover? Her worst mistake? She wasn't quite sure.

"Hello," his deep voice rumbled across the pillow. "I wish we had done this before. It makes all those previous Saturday nights seem like such a waste." He pulled her closer, and once again started to nibble his way down her neck, and other nether regions.

"Sherlock, what do you think you're doing?'

"Taking responsibility for my own happiness, Dr. Hooper! And attempting to make you happy as well." His hands were traveling over her body, leaving goosebumps behind them. "I could definitely get used to this. If it had felt this remarkable before, I would have never given it up!"

"Don't get used to it just yet, Sherlock!"

"Why not. We're engaged. Isn't this what engaged couples do?" He smiled down at her, a boyishly sincere smile, happy, and Molly could once again feel the the ability for coherent thought leaving her.

But before it did, she had one thing to clarify. "But we're not engaged, are we. You never gave me an answer!"

"Surely you've heard the expression, 'Actions speak louder than words,' Molly. I thought my actions spoke quite eloquently!" She heard a deep chuckle in his throat. "Perhaps I need to repeat myself." And he did. Several times. Until he finally made himself clear.

When she awoke again in the morning, Molly found herself alone. Wrapping herself in her robe, she made her way to the sitting room, and eventually the kitchen. She was surprised that her detective, her fiance, was brewing coffee the old fashioned way, not using the shiny new machine. "What, Sherlock, no experimental brews?"

"I thought we'd leave it in the box. Easier to move to Baker Street that way."

"It's supposed to go to Bart's, remember?"

"I'll have another one delivered to Bart's. I like to think of this one as our first wedding present. I wonder if we can grow coffee plants in Mrs. Hudson's back garden? And can we turn Toby into a vegetarian?"

"I told you, no using _**my**_ cat in your experiments!"

"After the wedding, he'll be _**our**_ cat, my love. And I'll take charge of cleaning the litter box!"

"I told you I will not drink cat shite coffee, Sherlock!"

"I probably won't either, love. But I will enjoy pouring a up for my brother!"

"Well, fiance, you are, after all, responsible for your own happiness!" But, Molly considered, as the man of her dreams kissed her once again, perhaps her future mother-in-law was somewhat responsible. She must remember to thank her by warning her about the coffee.


End file.
